Into the Grey of Night
by Always Talos
Summary: When Dumbledor left Harry for the Dursleys, something stepped in. Took Potter as it's own. Now, how will Harry's school-life go when he was raised not by his aunt and uncle, but by a warrior of the holy Emperor, by a Space Marine?


The silken cloak of old night had fallen upon Number Four Privet Drive. Darkness seemed to pill up behind doors, under walls, it seemed to gather together and to grow and move of its own free will. Stars shone defiantly in the sky but they were faint and fleeting; grey clouds obscured them but for a faint flash now and then, even the moon itself seemed darker and more imposing, for tonight was an old night. One of the nights that come maybe one a year, but that are akin, in the deepest and darkest recess of their existence, to those nights of so long ago when mankind huddled around their camp-fires and they knew fear, fear of the unknown as the wind raged and howled, just as it did then, just as it does now. Fear of the half-imagined creatures that were said to stalk these nights, of the demons and the monsters and the abominations that never should have been created. Of course, as mankind grew out of its infancy, such wild speculations were put squarely behind them, along with other fallacies such as the existence of magic, demons were consigned to the realm of imagination and little else.

But imagination has strength, belief is power and stories have a life of their own. People say that one is not really dead so long as he is remembered; the same is true of other less savoury things. Of the darkest beings, whose existence every human once knew in the core of their being, they have no names, not at the present, but they are real and they have power. It is the power that we have given them but it is power none the less. And on nights like this one, the gateway into the beyond was flung wide open, the darkness of eternal night streamed into the world of humanity and threatened to shatter the fragile balance of existence once and for all. Or so the old legends go.

The street lamps stood like silent guardians; their flickering fires the only illumination other than the almost warm-looking windows which seemed to shine with golden light. Even bathed in the eerie darkness the street looked normal. Normal lawns cut neatly in a normal fashion; normal houses side-by-side with the smallest amount of defiant divergence to show who lived where. It was quiet too, and in the sullen quiet the blackness almost seemed to curl in upon itself, like a living being. A hunter. Let the mind's eye see the street now, row upon row of houses, their windows glowing with inner light, street-lamps standing guard over the darkened row of buildings; neat lawns all pristine. And in the very bottom of the street; the corner; darker than the blackened soul of a murderer; small and hard to notice, but once seen impossible to miss.

Sound.

Soft, nearly inaudible in fact. The play of fabrics on skin, the soft sound of a person trying to be silent. The swish of robes in the wind. Then, a click, soft but defiant, and one of the street lamps spluttered and died, another click and the next followed suite. Then the next, and the next. Soon the street was bathed in the cloak of night and the figure walked forwards confidently. Albus Dumbledor struck a fine figure as he walked under the cover of night. His robe fluttered in the wind, he looked around, saw one of the houses and seemed to nod to himself and made directly for it. He peered at the number of the house, the charms he had cast on himself prior to his arrival allowed his eyes to pierce the darkness with utter perfection, Number Four. So this was the place. The windows were dark, the occupants clearly already fast asleep. Well perhaps that was for the best.

There was no sign of Hagrid but Albus didn't let that perturb him, his wrinkled hands darted into the folds of his robe and withdrew a sticky sherbet lemon, he carefully began to peel the wrapping off of it as he waited in the chilly night.

After a while, he turned, there was a cat sitting on the side of the road, it regarded him with old eyes, clever and full of wisdom.

" I should have known you would be here," Albus said, his eyes twinkling, "Professor McGonagall."

There was a flash of movement and the cat was a cat no more, now an elderly looking woman dressed in robes akin to those that adorned Albus himself. The two old teachers looked at each other for a while before McGonagall spoke.

" Its true, isn't it?" She said, "You Know Who is gone."

Albus nodded, " Indeed it seems so, according to my sources he has been vanquished from this world."

Minerva McGonagall stirred, she had been around Albus too long to be fooled by his word-play.

" By ''vanquished'' do you mean ''dead'' Or...?"

" The answer eludes even me," Albus admitted at length, popping a lemon into his mouth. "Certainly his power has been broken," he said when he finished chewing thoughtfully, " and his body has been destroyed. But is he dead? We may never know for sure."

" Then it is over?" She said and there was no mistaking the relief in her voice.

" Yes, it is over. The Death Eaters are scattered and lacking real leadership, there will be trouble in the days and weeks ahead but I can say with confidence that the worst is behind us. It seems Harry Potter had done the Wizarding World a great favour."

Minerva closed her eyes and her face wrinkled, as though confronted with an unappealing truth, " I had heard that it was Harry who finished him... but how is that possible? After all the people he's killed, all the wizards and witches he's tortured to death, how could such a small child stop him?"

" That is something even I do not know," Albus said, " the power of a mother's love is a magic unto itself, it obeys no rules or laws, it cannot be predicted and it cannot be stopped. I could try for a million years to copy what that young child did in an instant and I still would be unable to replicate his success."

" And James and Lilly...?" Minerva asked tentatively, as though afraid of the answer.

The lines and wrinkles on Dumbledor's face seemed to deepen as he frowned and there was real sadness in his eyes, " Dead. The last victims of Voldemort. I believe that it was their sacrifice that allowed Harry to live."

Minerva began to tear up despite herself, memories of the two who had become close friends to her sprang to mind. Lily, so smart, good at anything she applied herself to. Her emerald eyes so piercing and bright. James, with his constantly messy hair and his easy-going attitude, the way he always went around with those friends of his. The way he seemed to harden when he or his friends were threatened and the steely determination that hide under his lazy exterior. They would have made a good family. Now they would never have the chance.

" Albus... Oh Albus."

Suddenly there was a noise as a great bike descended from the heavens, as dark as it was they nearly didn't see it until it was right on top of them, it landed cleanly enough, though it seemed to belch smoke.

Hagrid stepped off the bike, carrying a sleeping child in one hand.

" Professor." He nodded to Minerva, " I got 'im. Little fella fell asleep . Look at 'im, not a care in the world."

Albus peered down at the sleeping baby, " Harry Potter."

Realisation dawned for Minerva, " You're going to leave him here? Albus I protest strongly, this family is the most..._muggle _family you could possibly find!"

" They are his family," Albus said firmly, "And that is all there is to be said on that matter."

With little more discussion, Albus Dumbledor walked slowly up to Number Four and placed the infant Harry on the doorstep. He took a second to tuck the blanket around the child, and placed a letter explaining all that had happened in the cradle with him. The baby rolled over, sighing in his sleep as he closed his hand around the paper. Albus looked over him for another moment, his eyes lingered on the lightening-bolt scar and then he turned away.

" Best that we be off," he said to the other two, " There are many things that still need to be done, and I suggest that the two of you join in on the celebrations just this once."

" Huh,_ celebrations._" Sniffed Minerva, leaving no doubt as to her position on them.

Hagrid was starting to tear up, but Albus comforted him.

"Do not worry, you will see him again."

The trio departed, Albus clicked his strange device and the street-lamps flared back into life. Normality settled back into Privet Drive.

Fifteen minutes passed, then, from the darkest corner where there was no light, movement. At first, vague, unidentified but it quickly resolved into a nightmare form. A man...no, a man-shaped thing taller and broader than any human stalked out of the blackness. He was armoured from head to toe, there was the faint whirr of pistons as he moved, the man seemed to loom in the half-darkness, his shadow to stretch out behind him, all consuming. He was a terrifying figure, grey armour, massive gauntlets bigger than the head of a grown man. He looked strange and out of place amongst the normality of Privet Drive but that only added the aura of fear he seemed to wear like a cloak. His massive form was deceptively silent as he strode out of the shadows, the light danced across his body as he left their embrace. They revealed the most terrifying feature of all; his helmet. Skull-faced, polished white and entirely too realistic. On the front of his armour, a book. And in his hand, he felt a pistol. Small for him, but too big for the average man to lift one-handed with the ease that he did. All of his armour was torn and pitted, deep scares adorned the surface, vast gouges in the armour, blood even leaked from some of them though he showed no sign of pain.

His skull-faced head swivelled as he took in every detail of the street before focusing on the happily sleeping baby. _ So this is the one. _He thought to himself. Out loud, he said, " Hiding us for so long was no easy feat, you have my respect."

The darkness in the corner seemed to disperse and fade as a second figure walked into the light; this one was more normal. Lithe and wiry, she was dressed in a dark bodyglove, some kind of light armour and a cloak. All of it was torn and scratched, and showed signs of field repair though there were no dangerous wounds. She stepped forwards and the light played across the heavily stylised **I **that adorned the rosette which she had pinned to the front of her cloak. Her red hair was matted with sweat.

" Not an easy task," she admitted, " but it worked."

She stalked up to the crib, her giant companion behind her, she saw the young child therein, the startlingly emerald eyes, the messy hair. As was her habit, she reached out with her mind, gently brushing the child's. It was her gift and curse as a Pysker to be able to so casually reach into the mind of another sapient being. Most children of this age barely qualified however, so consumed with hunger and concerns of their own comfort. This one was like those, but subtly different.

She nodded to the Grey Knight, the patched and worn armour of the Chaplain brought a momentary surge of guilt but she forced it down. She was an Inquisitor; there was no room for guilt. Guild led to mercy, mercy led to failure. Her job... her whole reason for existing was to bring punishment to enemies of the God-Emperor of Mankind. Failure was not an option.

"Is he one of them?" Asked the Grey Knight simply, ''them'' was almost spat and filled with disgust and she knew that he meant the native Psykers of this world... these ''wizards'' who were both Psykers and not Psykers. It was so strange to be around them, their minds were so familiar and yet totally different, reverberating with powers she would always associate with the Warp and yet not touched by it as she and every other Psyker was. They had the blessings but not the curse; they had the power but not the penalty. She didn't trust them, but she had no idea where they were or even if they were still in the same universe as the Imperium. The effects of the Warp on unshielded ship were dangerous to the extreme and that only two of them out of the entire battlebarge had survived spoke clearly of the disaster that had unfolded. She shuddered, remembering how the ship had been dragged into the Warp by the Daemon Prince, his grinning face mocking them all the while as they fought for their very souls.

Two loyal humans out of a ship of thousands, cast into the Warp alone and unprotected. They should not have survived. But they had. Perhaps that old soldier's mantra was true, perhaps the Emperor really did protect. But more probably, he had a purpose for them, a purpose they had not yet fulfilled. Something had brought them safely through the Warp and down upon this strange world, something had plans for them here. Still, stranded and without hope of rescue the two of them had been forced to make their own way in the world.

" He is," she confirmed with only a small probe, the power of the magic inside him was clear. But there was something else as well, she dug deeper, the primitive lattice of thoughts that would one day grow into a fully formed mind wove and danced around her as she dove down. down. Then, she had it.

"You were right," she admitted, " He is also a Psyker... I don't know how. Not active, he's a reflective." She frowned, "Those are very rare, and to find one that also had access to this magic that the locals use? The odds are stacked so heavily against us that the chances are virtually none-existent. How did you know?"

The Grey Knight Chaplain, Duras, was for the briefest moment tempted to say that the Emperor had told him so, but this was not the night for joking.

" It was a basic deduction. Those three that left him here talked enough about it, this Dark Lord met his match in the boy, no normal child could do that, no normal wizard. I do not know if they even have Psykers in this place but the boy was showing signs of real power. We had to investigate."

"Yes," she breathed as she dug deeper, " He has a lot of power... reflective, passive, but present. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that his natural power was able to reflect the attack this Dark Lord cast at him, multiplied by several times I suspect. I do not know if he could do it again, but he is certainly a Psyker."

Suddenly, the bolt-pistol was pointed at the boy's head, the child slept soundly, unaware that his life was being judged even as he slumbered.

" Such power may be passive," the Grey Knight said, " but the Archenemy can twist it to its own means. A young Psyker would be very vulnerable, we should destroy it now."

The Inquisitor nodded, " We should. But he would be valuable to us, with his power seeking and eventually destroying the Daemon Prince that followed us here would be much easier. That one is smart," she spat, " he knows better than to reveal his hand. He will wait for years, decades perhaps, and slowly corrupt the soul of this world. Nether of us have the strength to oppose him directly."

" And the boy might?"

" No," she had to admit, " but he would strengthen us."

" We should kill him before the taint can spread, one shot would end it all."

" We could but think on this: We alone of all the souls on that ship survived, we were cast through the Warp and we emerged unharmed, we managed to escape to this world despite our wounds in time to hear of the downfall of this Dark Lord. In time to reach this child before he can do any harm. What are the odds? Of the only two survivors being a Psyker Inquisitor and a Grey Knight Chaplain. We could do it, you and I. I could teach him to master his powers, to control his mind and you might teach him the Imperial Creed, of the glory of the God-Emperor."

"As you will," The Grey Knight Chaplain said, technically the Grey Knights were a separate faction from the Inquisition; technically he didn't answer to her. But he also knew that there were only two of them here and to split their forces would be insanity of the highest order, and that she had already made up her mind in regards to the child.

"But at the first sign of corruption I will personally destroy it," he growled.

She nodded and picked up the child, he was young, but she could feel the power welling up within his mind. Passive, she'd called him, a reflector, that was true but she knew that such Psykers were as rare as they were valuable. If they could raise him correctly, if he followed the Imperial scriptures, then maybe he would tip the odds a little for their side.

God-Emperor knew, they needed all the help they could get.

Elsewhere.

The thing moved from home to home, flickering in and out of existence, scanning millions of minds; it was weak, so weak now. But soon it would be strong, it had no body, yet but its mind was like a rock.

Praise be to Tzeentch! Changer of the Ways, for this whole planet would soon be his, it already tingled with magic, and power, the Daemon Prince felt it was only fitting to grant it to the Lord of Magic. But before that, it would need to find the appropriate mortal. It was weak now, it would take years to recover, but it could wait, and plan. All it needed was someone to carry out its plans, someone not averse to accepting the gift of Chaos and yet with the iron self control not to drown in it; such people were rare indeed. So the Daemon Prince scanned mind after mind, soul after soul, searching for someone open to the promises of power, someone young and broken but with the potential to become strong.

There! No, too old.

There! No, the mind was soft, weak.

There! No, greed shone like a beacon, that mind was more attuned to the Lord of Pleasure than the Changer of the Ways.

There! A golden beacon, young, a mere babe but strong... Yes, strong... not a Psyker. A quick glance at the tides of fate, the limitless possibilities confirmed that this child would not grow up to become particularly powerful with magic ether.

But it had the potential, buried deep down.

The Daemon Prince would have smiled, if it had a mouth. It had found its champion.


End file.
